


Our Time

by Toni_Violet



Series: Time With you [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 9x06, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Healing, Love, M/M, POV Alternating, Prison, Prison Sex, Sexual Content, Sweet, grovelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 13:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16450814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toni_Violet/pseuds/Toni_Violet
Summary: This picks up RIGHT after the end of S9/E6 with Mickey and Ian back together for the first time in years, and Mickey's grand gesture just setting in for Ian. Though they're together, I really thought it was important to capture some of the turmoil they still have to work through. Mickey loves Ian with every shred of his being, but he doesn't trust him with his heart (sorry, that came off corny...but it's the truth). And Ian is coming to terms with the fact that he and Mickey really get another chance together but is struggling with feeling deserving of having that chance.I will be adding chapters to this story periodically, but they are heavy and emotional and I want to do these beautiful boys justice so each chapter takes me some time. I wanted to go ahead and upload what I have completed so far.I hope you enjoy it! =)





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter starts out kinda heavy but hopefully it isn't too angsty. I'm hoping to convey the massive depth of feeling these two have for one another while still showing all of the issues they have to work through. 
> 
> And stick with it... better (hotter) times up ahead! ;)

“God, I’ve fucking missed you,” Ian says, burying his face in Mickey’s neck. 

Ian and Mickey are in prison--together--and Mickey has just given Ian the surprise of his life. Ian's heart is pounding, his breaths coming in a rush. He's still trying to convince himself that this isn't all just a dream. 

Mickey caresses the back of his neck. “The fuck did you get yourself into, Gallagher?” he asks, his voice low.

“A fucking mess,” Ian admits with a humorless laugh, continuing to stroke Mickey’s face. He needs to reassure himself that Mickey really is here. “I can’t believe you did this,” he says before placing a gentle kiss on Mickey’s neck. “Why? Why’d you come back here?” 

“Thick and thin, remember?” Mickey turns slightly, giving Ian his eyes. “Wasn’t about to let you do this alone.” 

Ian can’t help the tears forming in his eyes at Mickey’s admission. He’s overwhelmed with emotion. He burrows his face back in the crook of Mickey’s neck and turns them so they're laying on their sides, facing each other. He really doesn't want Mickey to see him cry but there isn't fuck all he can do to make himself stop. “Thank you,” is all Ian can muster while running his hand up and down Mickey’s back and up around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you...” he continues repeating until the words become so soft that they blend in with the gentle whir of background noise coming from outside their cell.

They lay together a few minutes longer just touching and holding each other. Mickey has things he wants to say and questions he needs answered, but as soon as he felt the warm moisture of Ian’s tears on his shoulder, he knew they could all wait. It’s as if the weight of all the words that need to be said is surrounding them, and they’ll get there, but right now, they just want to enjoy the warmth of each other’s closeness. 

Ian’s heart is so full that it feels like it might spill over. Like he’s come home. But for all the warmth he feels, he is drowning in an equal amount of guilt and remorse. For all the hurt he’s caused Mickey. 

Ian’s head is pulled back by his hair. Mickey’s looking up at him, a crinkle between his eyebrows. “The fuck happened to your hair, Gay Jesus?” 

Ian snorts. “It’s a long story.” 

“Good thing we have a long time.” 

“Yeah,” Ian says warmly, cupping Mickey’s face. He releases a breath. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. You were free, Mick. You shouldn’t have come back just for me.” 

Mickey levels him with those gorgeous blues. “Yeah, I chose you instead, Gallagher,” he says, holding Ian’s gaze. 

“Fuck…” Ian sits up and moves to the end of the bunk, his back up against the wall, and drops his head into his hands, overcome with guilt. “I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.” 

Mickey sighs and shakes his head, looking away. “Not ready to have that conversation yet. ‘K?” 

Ian looks down at him. “’K. That’s fair.” 

“You’re still my family. Whether or not we’re,” he gestures between the two of them and then rolls his eyes, seemingly at himself, “whatever.” 

Ian tosses him a mocking glare. “Uh, okay…but, just so you know, if I’m near you, I can’t _not_ be with you. Part of the reason I could never come to visit you in prison.” He blurts out that last part without thinking, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he could yank them back. 

Mickey raises his eyes to Ian, studying him for a long moment. "Thought that was because it was so hard seeing me through the glass." 

Ian can't meet his eyes and wants to just punch himself in the face for being such a coward. "That was part of it too..." he mutters, like a fucking pussy.

Mickey continues to stare, as if willing Ian to elaborate. When it becomes clear that Ian has nothing else to add, he (thankfully) decides to let Ian off the hook and continues, “Just saying, if you’ve moved on, it’s good. Not expecting--” 

“I haven’t,” Ian interrupts. 

Mickey pauses, as if waiting for Ian to elaborate. When he doesn't, he asks, “What happened to your boyfriend?” 

“You happened,” Ian says with a shake of his head. “That ended after our trip to the border.” Ian shrugs. “It was heading south before that so…don’t worry about it.” 

“I’ll try not to lose any sleep over it,” Mickey says, folding his arms behind his head, and Ian doesn’t miss his little satisfied smirk. 

_Fuck_ , had Mickey moved on? The only thing worse than life without Mickey would be a life with Mickey where Ian would have to watch him be with someone else. It’s just the kind of cruel punishment Ian knows he deserves. “You?” he croaks. 

Mickey sobers, the smirk falling off his face and gives a single shake of his head, his gaze roaming all over Ian, his neck, his chest, but not meeting his eyes. 

Relief fills Ian, at least for the moment. He knows they still have a long way to go, but as long as Ian hasn't been replaced, he can work with the rest. 

“Wasn’t sure, though,” Mickey starts. “About doing this. About coming to you. Didn’t know if maybe I was too late…” he adds, avoiding Ian’s gaze. 

"Not possible" is Ian's quick reply, but he wants to say so much more. He wants to say that a hundred years could go by and Mickey would still be the love of his life. He'd learned that the hard way during the time without him. But he knows he needs to earn the right to make those kinds of claims and he hasn't earned shit from Mickey yet. “Can you look at me?” Ian asks. 

Mickey remains frozen, only moving his eyes to meet Ian’s. 

“Ever since the border…not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. That I haven’t regretted my decision. That I haven’t wondered what we’d be doing if I’d gone with you. Where we’d be.”

“I thought about all that too. A lot,” Mickey says despondently. 

Ian raises his knees, Mickey’s legs stretching underneath his own, and rests his elbows on them. “I was so terrified to go with you. I ended up being the coward here,” Ian says, hiding his face in his arms. 

“Dude, it’s okay. I’m not here to make you feel like shit.” Mickey shoves his leg against Ian’s feet, trying to get him to stop hiding his face and curling in on himself. 

“It’s not okay.” 

Mickey is quiet for a moment, and it's a long moment. Then, softly he says, “I get it. I didn’t exactly have anything to offer you.” 

Ian straightens and takes Mickey’s hand, needing to touch him in some way. Hating the distance that this conversation is creating between them. He could almost see Mickey’s walls going up. They’d never really held hands—except if they were asleep. The gesture is one that just seemed too “gay,” too personal for Ian to attempt out of fear that Mickey would reject him or shut it down with some flippant joke. Or both. But he doesn’t. He simply squeezes Ian’s hand back as if in a gesture of reassurance. It gives Ian the confidence to continue. 

“Shouldn’t have mattered. I’m sorry, Mick. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me and it isn’t enough. But I’m sorry.” 

Mickey nods but remains silent. 

“So what made you come anyway? If you weren’t sure.” 

Mickey’s eyes are fixated on their joined hands. On his own thumb which is running slow circles inside of Ian’s palm. He finally looks up at Ian with a sense of renewed confidence. “I realized something….”

“What?” Ian whispers. 

“You never said goodbye to me.”

Ian sucks in a breath before pushing himself back over Mickey, towering over him, and places a hand on his face. 

“I could _never_ say goodbye to you,” he says before kissing him, long and slow. “Wanted to fucking punch you in the face whenever you asked me to.” He kisses Mickey again, unable to get enough of his taste. Of the drugging way in which Mickey kisses him back. When he pulls away and looks him right in the eye, he decides, fuck it. Fuck not having the right to tell Mickey every single detail about how he’s feeling. Fuck being a coward. They’ve lost too much time, and Ian is ready to start making up for it right now. He inches even closer. “I love you more now. More than I did when I was fifteen years old and you were the center of my entire fucking world, Mick. It’s only gotten stronger since you left.”

The words seem to be what Mickey wanted to hear because the full-on smile he gives Ian is fucking fantastic. Unabashed. Open. Devoid of any snark or sarcasm. Mickey places his hand over Ian’s, never taking his eyes off Ian's face. “I know,” he says rubbing his nose along Ian’s. “Why do you think I kept coming back? I’ve just been waiting for you to realize it.” 

~

It’s several hours later. They’d been out of their cell for lunch and to the yard after. So far, Ian thinks that prison weirdly resembles kindergarten. They’re constantly being corralled somewhere for short periods of time, before being corralled back. But that’s fine. Ian doesn’t want to be outside of the cell today. He just wants to be able to talk to Mickey and make things right. 

Ian asks. “So, how did you know?” 

“My father contacted me. Told me you came to see him.” 

“You serious?”

Mickey shrugs. “Shocked the shit out of me too. He was real matter-of-fact about it. I mean, he still called you ‘rectum boy’ or whatever, but, I don’t know…seemed different. Like he really didn't give a shit what we did anymore.” 

“Wow, we got his blessing?” 

Mickey chuckles sardonically. “Seriously doubt that, but that’s probably as close to one as we’ll ever get.” He shifts and then continues. “That’s when I knew I needed to make a move. I knew you weren’t in a good place if you went to see him of all fucking people.” 

Mickey is sitting on the bottom bunk while Ian is sitting up against the wall across from him. There are maybe three feet between them. But it suddenly feels like miles. Hearing the details of how Mickey was driven to do what he did for Ian makes Ian want to go over to him, hug him, and never let go. 

“I left after I went to see Terry,” Ian admits. 

Mickey narrows his eyes. “What do you mean you left?” 

“I was gonna make a run for it.” Ian looks down, unsure. Hesitant. “I wanted to find you.” 

A long silence spans between them. 

“Well, that explains the hair…” Mickey finally says, getting up to pace the cell. 

“Yeah,” Ian adds, feeling like an idiot. He’s not sure what else he’s supposed to say. 

“I fucking hate it, by the way,” Mickey says, facing away from him, hands on his hips. “So why didn’t you?” 

Ian looks down. “I got as far as buying the train ticket to El Paso. Was going to go back to that house we went to down there. See if they could give me some leads. I didn’t know where else to start. But then I thought, what if they had no clue where you were? What then?” He looked up to find Mickey studying him closely. "Went back to see Terry actually, because I realized that it was really odd that he knew you were in Mexico. Turns out he had a number for you."

Mickey visibly tenses. “And?” 

Ian narrows his eyes, assessing Mickey. “And I called it. Some guy answered. He was all cryptic. Said you weren’t there anymore.”

Mickey smirked at that.

“Why? What happened?” Ian persisted.

Mickey runs a hand over his face. “No, you finish your story first.” 

“Did something happen to you?” 

Mickey levels a glare on him. “Gallagher, we got a lotta shit to hash out. We’ll get there, okay? You first.” 

Ian sighs. “Figured I’d blown my chance. That I didn't deserve a chance. My chance to go with you was at the border. If you’d moved on, I didn’t think it was fair for me to interfere.” 

Mickey's nostrils flare and his eyes flicker away. “You fucking serious?” Mickey asks, eyes boring into Ian’s. “You didn’t think I should have any say in all these decisions you made on my behalf?” 

“I mean, it sounds like I would’ve been too late anyway. This wasn’t that long ago. Weren’t you headed back already? 

“Doesn’t fucking matter. It’s the principal.” 

Ian stands and starts toward him, wanting to eliminate the distance between them, but a pounding at the door halts him mid-stride. 

“Dinner,” one of the guards barks from the other side of the door, meaning they need to line up. 

Ian stops and stares at Mickey, trying to convey to him that they’d finish this later. 

Mickey gives him one last glance as he walks past him to go stand at his spot in the line.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So one of my BIGGEST frustrations with Shameless and what they gave us for Ian and Mickey is that we saw VERY little of their sexy times. So, as a result, I've conjured up allllllll these visuals on how things go down between them. I've never pictured them having just regular old vanilla sex. To me, that part of their relationship is just as explosive as they are. Hopefully, I've captured some of that here. That was my goal anyway. 
> 
> So, yeah, basically...this chapter is one, long sex scene. ;) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

“Where am I sleeping?” 

It’s later that night. The buzzer has just sounded, letting the inmates know that it’s lights out. Mickey just stepped out of his shoes and jumpsuit, leaving him in the white undershirt and boxers all the inmates wear. He’s sitting on his bunk, arms propped on this knees, examining the ground. He seems like he's a million miles away, and Ian fucking hates the distance between them. 

A streak of light is all that illuminates a sliver of the room. Enough for Ian to recognize Mickey’s lingering hurt and anger. Ian's question still hangs in the air. Mickey remains silent for so long that Ian assumes he isn't going to get an answer. Not wanting to push and knowing he doesn’t have the right to, Ian takes a step toward the end of the beds to hop up to the top bunk. At the last second, though, Mickey grabs his arm and pulls him into the bottom bunk with him. 

Ian is so relieved that he wants to laugh or make a joke about how he knew Mickey wouldn’t be able to resist him, but he decides against it. Instead, he leans down, finding Mickey’s mouth in the dark with his own, and gives Mickey a slow, sensual kiss. Ian can feel Mickey exhale beneath him. Mickey drags his hands up Ian’s arms, over his shoulders, and down his back to hold on to his waist as they kiss. Staying on his knees, Ian moves to straddle Mickey’s thighs. Mickey tips his head back, seemingly happy to give in to Ian’s attentions. It should surprise Ian after the way Mickey’s been freezing him out for the last couple of hours but it really doesn’t. This is the one place where communication has never failed them, even when words did. They wrap around each other without a word. They don't need words. Their mouths meet, the kisses hot and hard.

Ian’s hands plunge into Mickey’s hair. The touch stirs a familiar warmth inside Mickey, and his skin immediately heats with each stroke of Ian’s tongue against his. Mickey continues to drag his hands down Ian’s body to grasp his ass. Ian responds, his muscles bunching, his cock stirring against Mickey’s groin, heating him further as they rub against each other and grow more and more aroused together. 

Ian halts before they can get too far ahead of themselves, rolling out of bed to step out of his jumpsuit and to pull his T-shirt off. With his eyes having adjusted to the darkness, he doesn’t miss Mickey’s appraisal of his naked torso. Mickey pulls a bottle of lubricant from just under the bed that Ian hadn’t noticed was there and drops it to the floor at Ian’s feet. He tugs his own T-shirt off over his head—leaving him solely in his boxers—and tosses it to the side. He lies back on the bed, hands folded behind his head.

“Someone was pretty confident,” Ian can’t help but say, gesturing toward the lube. 

Mickey remains motionless, eyes drilling into Ian’s in a silent standoff. 

Wasting no more time, Ian lowers himself over Mickey and grips his chin, kissing him slowly and maneuvering them both until they’re stretched out on the small bed. Ian settles between Mickey's legs, gathering up his wrists to hold him and kiss him soundly. “Every night,” he says in a whisper, “I’ve missed this every single night.” 

Mickey says nothing but relaxes into the bed, Ian’s weight bearing down on him. And as Ian’s hands close around his wrists, Mickey releases a gentle moan. He can’t help it, the thought of Ian taking control and holding him down always sends a shudder through him. It’s something Mickey has sorely missed. 

Ian is already mostly hard, and he rubs himself against Mickey’s hip. He gathers Mickey’s wrists into one hand, grip tightening, their kiss becoming more demanding. 

Ian’s free hand slides down Mickey’s body, fingers digging in possessively as they drag along his chest, his ribs, and then to his hip. Mickey groans and pulls at Ian’s hands, testing his grip. Ian grunts back at him, using the weight of his body to continue to hold Mickey down. He pushes at Mickey’s thigh with his knee, shoving his legs farther apart and stealing any leverage Mickey might have found. His hard cock pushes against Mickey’s hip as Ian straddles one thigh. He rocks against him as he sucks on Mickey’s tongue, working to drain Mickey of his control. And his anger. 

Mickey is hard, too, straining against his boxers. He whimpers, eager for more. Mickey so desperately needs to be eaten alive right now, just to reassure himself that this really worked. That they’re really here together. Regardless of all the shit they still have to work through. Mickey has never felt comfortable expressing how he feels with words. It’s something that intimidates him about Ian, who is not afraid of that at all. He knows he’s angry. But he also knows that he would lay his life down for Ian in a fucking instant. What all that means and where it leaves them, he doesn’t fucking know. 

Arching under him, Mickey bares his throat. He moans when Ian bites him. _Challenge accepted, motherfucker._ He knows exactly what Ian’s trying to do to him by the way he’s kissing him. By how he’s drawing it out. He’s trying to frustrate Mickey into talking to him. And, a few years ago, it would’ve worked on his younger self. There were very few times over the years where they had been able to enjoy each other’s bodies for longer than just a quick fuck. The night before the border had been one of those times. After their initial frantic fuck in the boat yard, they’d settled in the van and Ian had devoured every inch of Mickey’s body as he was doing now. It had driven Mickey so insane with insatiable lust that they’d fucked twice more after that. But Mickey refuses to give him the satisfaction of letting him know just how fucking crazy with need Ian is making him right now. His body is all Ian would get from him tonight. 

Ian kisses him again, licking at Mickey’s tongue before working his way over Mickey’s chin, down his neck, and across his chest to bite at the hard muscle of his shoulder. With every movement, Ian’s hand tightens in his hair. Each tug draws a soft groan out of Mickey, and each groan causes Ian to come back for another kiss. If Ian continues this way, Mickey realizes that while he might be able to hold out from speaking to Ian, he wouldn’t be able to hold out on coming and fast. 

Ian begins trailing down Mickey’s body as Mickey shifts under him. Ian’s hands slide underneath him as he finally gets to Mickey’s hip and bites him there, just hard enough to leave a red mark. It draws a cry of pleasure out of Mickey. Ian sits up and yanks Mickey’s boxers off, then props the back of Mickey’s thigh against his shoulder before bending over him and licking the head of his cock.

That gets a long groan out of Mickey which Ian takes great delight in. _He isn’t so immune after all._

Ian wraps his arm around Mickey’s thigh. For some reason, the simple action makes Mickey feel vulnerable. Propping that leg up on Ian’s solid shoulder, watching him insinuate himself between Mickey’s legs to take his cock into his mouth. It makes him feel vulnerable, but he loves it. It turns him on because Ian is the only person who’s ever made him feel that way. Not that he plans on sharing that with the man right now.

Mickey shudders and clutches at the mattress as he thrusts his hips toward Ian’s warm mouth. “Fuck,” he whispers into the air between them. 

Ian’s fingers dig into the front of Mickey’s hip as he holds him in place and continues going down on him. It takes him a few attempts, but he finally gets the head of Mickey’s cock to the back of his throat and swallows around it. A strangled yell from Mickey echoes off the stone walls around them, and he strains uselessly to snap his hips up for more. The hot slide of Ian’s tongue all over him feels fucking incredible. 

Ian continues on, seemingly determined to making Mickey lose it. But then he stops abruptly, pulling off Mickey’s cock with one last lick from balls to head. 

“No,” Mickey groans, reaching for Ian desperately. 

“Talk to me,” Ian urges. 

“Fuck you,” Mickey grinds out, his breath reduced to shallow panting.

Ian lets Mickey’s leg slide off his shoulder and kneels between Mickey’s knees. Ian slides both palms up Mickey’s torso, his fingers dragging against hardened muscles that weren't there before. Mickey's body telling a story of hard work and difficult times. He can just barely make out a few new scars in the darkness. Ian ends up at Mickey’s shoulders and pushes him into the bed. He kisses him passionately, practically devouring him as he ruts against Mickey’s thigh. Mickey moans against his mouth and runs a hand up the back of Ian’s head, holding him in place. 

Finally, Ian rises to his knees and shoves his boxers down and off. He reaches for the bottle of lubricant, then finds one of Mickey’s hands without breaking their kiss and squeezes some into his palm. Dazed, Mickey drags open his eyes as he pants and shivers under Ian. 

“Get me ready,” Ian growls. 

He groans as soon as Mickey touches him, bowing his back to bite at Mickey’s lip. Their foreheads are pressed together, their gasps mingling, and Ian is whispering “I love you” into the darkness between each kiss. 

Mickey spreads his legs farther apart as he jacks Ian. 

Ian’s harsh breaths gust across Mickey’s cheek and ear as he kisses toward Mickey’s neck and bites him right beneath his earlobe. He pulls at Mickey’s hair, jerking his head to the side, dropping little nips that leave enough sting for Mickey to want more. And Mickey begs for them with broken sounds and soft cries. 

Ian puts his lips to Mickey’s ear. “Louder.” 

Mickey fights to swallow. His cock jumps against Ian’s hip.

“Louder, Mickey,” Ian orders, voice going sharper. 

Mickey halts his ministrations and shoves Ian into the wall behind him, leveling him with a punishing glare that there is no mistaking, not even in the dark. Their mingled labored breaths are all that fill the space between them as they continue to stare each other down. One daring the other. Wondering who will strike next. 

Ian backs down first and finally crawls over him, taking both of Mickey’s hands and pushing them over his head, tightening them in his grasp almost painfully. He flexes his hips, and the angle of Mickey’s body is just right to let him push the head of his cock inside. He rocks there several times, forcing Mickey apart, causing him to cry out, then he shoves in harder, rocking Mickey’s body into the mattress.

Mickey’s shout of pleasure and pain echoes off the walls. His gasps are caught between Ian’s lips, and it is a near-impossible struggle to stay still as Ian rocks into him, to keep his hips at that perfect angle, one leg straight between Ian’s knees and one drawn up to his chest as Ian takes him from above. He needs to move, to ease the ache of invasion, to intensify the brutal pressure. Fuck, he loves it, Ian forcing his way in, laying claim to Mickey’s body. He’s on the edge of completely falling apart. 

Ian finally loosens his hold, and his hands began to roam again as he starts a slow, steady rhythm. “Move, Mick.” 

“Oh fuck,” Mickey gasps, thrusting his hips up on Ian’s length as Ian pushes into him. He squeezes his eyes shut—trying to escape Ian. The intimacy of the moment is too much. Too overwhelming. But Ian isn’t having any of it. He’s right there, placing his warm lips on Mickey’s with slow, tender kisses. 

“Did I ever tell how fucking beautiful you are like this?” Ian pants. 

Mickey turns his head to the side. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“No,” Ian growls. “I refuse to hold back with you anymore. I’ve always thought that. But I never said it because I knew it was the kind of flowery shit you hated to hear. It’s the reason I love taking you like this. With you facing me. So I can see how fucking incredible you look when I’m fucking you.” 

Mickey’s groaning quickly becomes louder and more frequent. He can feel his eyes burning with unshed tears. Ian’s words are too much. Mickey knows Ian is just trying to get a reaction out of him. He’s just trying to provoke him. But when Mickey chances a glance at Ian, he finds that he too is beginning to lose control. Ian presses his forehead against Mickey’s shoulder as he picks up his pace, his panting breaths harsh in Mickey’s ear and sweat dripping from his temples. 

Mickey couldn't stop his cries if he wanted to. The pleasure is overwhelming, and not even the pain of his own need for release can distract him. 

Ian slows and pushes himself up, trailing gentle fingers over Mickey’s shoulder and down his arms. His hips are still thrusting into Mickey, and his entire body is gleaming with sweat from his efforts. The change in momentum drives another husky wail out of Mickey. 

“Wait for me, you hear me?” Ian warns. He snaps his hips forward, driving deep into Mickey with a growl of pleasure, forcing another loud groan. 

Ian continues the same punishing rhythm. Then he pulls back until the head of his cock is forcing the tight muscles of Mickey’s ass to spread and spasm, making Mickey roll his body, one leg up as Ian drives hard into him. 

Their eyes meet, neither of them blinking or looking away as Ian thrusts into him over and over. 

Ian knows he can’t keep up the punishing rhythm for much longer. He pushes his face against Mickey’s neck and cries out Mickey’s name. Mickey drags his blunt fingernails down Ian’s back, silently begging him to keep fucking him, hard and merciless. Ian’s answer is another agonized shout of Mickey’s name as he empties himself deep inside him. 

Mickey soaks it all in, quivering uncontrollably. Ian is solid and warm in his hands, and he doesn’t let go while Ian keeps moving inside him. He would never get enough of that feeling no matter what else is going on between them. 

Ian’s hips continue to rock as he lays himself down over Mickey. He moans, the sound tortured and exhausted. “Jesus, I love fucking you,” he rumbles as he presses his lips to Mickey’s neck.

Mickey groans and shivers hard, turning his chin to give Ian all the access to his neck he wants. Ian kisses under his jaw one last time before pulling out of him with a plaintive moan. He’s damp, and his body glistens in the sliver of light coming through the door. 

Mickey moves to take himself in hand, but Ian reaches for him instead. He wraps his fingers around Mickey’s cock and strokes him lazily as they kiss. Then he scoots down and takes Mickey’s cock in his mouth. It’s not long—maybe a minute or two—before Mickey is gasping helplessly as his entire body seizes, muscles cramping, fingers digging into Ian’s hair, hips jutting upward. He chokes out one last moan and comes so hard his vision sparkles, each thin stream coating Ian’s tongue as he sucks Mickey through it, driving his moans louder and louder into a pained yell. 

Ian sucks and pumps him until Mickey’s spent every last drop of himself, then pulls off and kisses Mickey’s hip. He rolls to his back and sprawls out next to his lover, eyes closed and chest heaving. 

The gust of air from Ian’s movement sends another shudder through Mickey. He can still feel Ian all over him: smarting bite marks, the whisker burn on his throat and shoulders, the burn on his chest, elbows, and knees, sore spots from Ian’s fingers digging in, and best of all, Ian’s cum sliding down his leg. He feels absolutely mauled.

Eyes still shut, he reaches out to his side and his fingers meet Ian’s hip. He strokes the heated, damp skin. A moment later, Ian’s fingers tangle with his, lacing together. Ian doesn’t say anything. Mickey doesn’t either. They both seem content to hold hands as they lay together, soaking in the warmth of the fire of what they just shared. 

Once their breathing calms and the ringing in Mickey’s ears fades, he pulls Ian to sleep behind him, pulling Ian’s arm around him. 

And as the world begins to drift away, Ian realizes that Mickey is still angry at him and that despite his best efforts, Ian couldn’t get him to talk about why.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***EDITED TO ADD*** This chapter has changed from its original form as this story has kind of taken a different shape in my head. If you read it before, please read the second scene over again as it sets up the rest of the book. 
> 
> My third fave Shameless character makes an appearance here. ;) 
> 
> Also, MUCH more emotion. I think it's really important for Ian to really SEE the pain he's caused Mickey and the lasting effects that pain has had on who Mickey has become. I hope I've shown that here. This is also an introduction to the rest of the book, which will heavily consist of flashbacks to Mickey's time in Mexico. Because, this is Mickey fucking Milkovich....don't you want to know what kind of trouble he got into across the border? And what he walked away from? ;) 
> 
> I have a lot more story to tell here. I just don't know how often I'll be able to add each chapter. But please know that I am so committed to this story and to telling it with 1000% quality. Our boys aren't getting anything less than perfection from me. So please stay tuned for more!! I'm so excited about where this story is going! 
> 
> Hope you all like it and please let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading. <3

It’s been a week since Ian went in, and he has his first visitor. Things have been pretty much the same with Mickey. By day it’s all clipped words and short responses. Mickey will barely look at him when he's actually in the cell with Ian. He's been spending as much time as the guards will allow in the weight room. But by night, it’s all the intense passion they ever had and more, before they fall asleep tangled in one another. Ian’s about had it. He’s trying to be patient and give Mickey his space and time to be angry but _fuck_. He can’t stand having Mickey this close, yet so far away. 

Ian sits and picks up the phone. “Hey.” 

He looks up to find his older brother Lip staring from the other side of the glass, wearing a small smile. 

“What?” 

“Uh, it’s just, you look great. This place really agrees with you, huh? You getting laid a lot or something?” 

Ian smiles but it turns into a small laugh. “Actually, yeah.” 

“Yeah? Well, good for you. I’m glad.” 

“No, it’s…” Ian doesn’t know how to set up what he needs to say, so he decides to just come out and say it. “I’m…with someone.” 

Lip’s expectant look turns into one of surprise. “Already? Fuck, that was fast.” 

“It’s Mickey.” 

Lip narrows his eyes, head tilting to the side slightly. “Come again?”

“Mickey’s here. He’s my cellmate actually.” 

Ian explains what Mickey did. About the cartel and about his plea deal. “So he gave over some information on the cartel in exchange for being able to pick where he finishes his time.”

Lip’s eyebrows jump up in shock. “Fuck. I can’t believe he did that.”

Ian has to look away, fighting back a smile at the pride he feels for Mickey. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell that story without feeling intense love and admiration for the man and his sacrifice. 

“No, you know what? I can believe it,” Lip continues, appearing to be lost in thought. “You’ve always been it for him, man.” 

Ian lets those words sink in and nods in agreement. 

“Back when you were first diagnosed…he was…relentless. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have done for you. He would’ve burned the world down if it meant making you better.” 

Ian smiles at the thought. He could so totally see Mickey doing just that. 

Lip’s eyes meet his brother’s, and Ian doesn’t miss the hint of awe there. “I’m happy for you. You guys deserve it. You’ve had enough shit.” 

Ian chuckles. “Well, we’re not out of the woods yet. He’s here but he’s angry with me. We started talking about everything and there’s a lot he’s really pissed at me about.” 

Lip seems to roll those words around in his head for a minute. “That’s okay. Just work it out. Don’t throw it away. You know how fucking lucky the two of you are?” He chuckles dryly. “I might go my whole life and never find what you guys have.” 

Lip’s words make Ian feel warm somehow. Like he knows they’ll actually see it to the end of the tunnel this time. He just has to be patient. The way Mickey was for him for all those years. “I’m not. Believe me, I’m not fucking this up ever again, but I want to give him his space. He has every right to be angry.” 

“Yeah, he does," Lip agrees. “Just talk about it, you know? Listen to each other.” 

Ian swallows hard, his eyes finding the cheap linoleum that covers the floor beneath him. “I also feel crazy guilt every time I look at him. Like, he fucking came back to prison for me. I feel like such a piece of shit. I only visited him once when he was locked up before. I don't deserve him.” 

“Yeah, he definitely one-upped you for a while,” Lip agrees again with a laugh. “He can forget your birthday, Christmas, and your fucking anniversary or whatever for like a decade and you can’t say shit.”

Ian can't help his eye roll. “Shut the fuck up.” 

Lip smiles at his younger brother, but seems to be mulling something over once again. "He have any visitors yet?" 

Ian shakes his head, the thought making him sad for his friend. Mandy never returned to Chicago, as far as Ian knows. And who the fuck knows what Mickey's brothers and cousins are up to. They'd never shown up for Mickey. No one ever had. Ian is determined to remedy that. 

"Ask him to add me to his visitors list, will ya? He should have someone visiting him too." 

Ian gives Lip a single nod, but his face breaks out into a smile. He loves his brother so fucking much in that moment. "Thanks, man." 

"Of course," Lip says with an easy shrug. "He's my family now too." 

~

When Ian gets back to the cell, he immediately grabs Mickey—who has his back turned to him—and wraps him up in a hug. “What’ll it take for you to forgive me?” he whispers into his neck. 

Mickey turns and shoves him. “I already did, fuck face.”

Ian moves his eyes to Mickey's, challenging those words. 

“I’m just angry, okay? And I’m not good at this shit.” 

Ian moves to sit on the edge of the bottom bunk. 

“That’s okay. I want you to be angry. But can you talk to me about it? I can’t fix it if you won’t talk to me.” 

With a glance out the door to make sure none of the guards or any other onlookers are lurking around their cell, Mickey comes and joins Ian on the edge of the bed. 

Mickey seems to be searching for the right words. He releases a heavy sigh. “I need to know why I was never enough,” he says, not meeting Ian’s eyes. 

And with those words, Ian desperately wishes he wouldn’t have pushed, because _fuck_. There’s a buzzing between his ears, and he feels overcome with remorse. He shifts toward Mickey because he needs to eliminate all the space between them. His hands itch to touch Mickey but he knows he can’t right now. Not with all the eyes that might be watching. 

“That was never ever the problem. When you got locked up, it was that I didn’t want you to see the fucking head case I’d turned into. I was in denial. Ashamed. I didn’t want to burden you with all my crazy anymore. I saw that same shit tear Frank and Monica apart and I refused to have us turn into that.” 

Mickey’s eyes are glassy with unshed tears, but Ian forges on. He knows if he doesn’t, he’ll completely lose his will. “At the border, I told you before, I was fucking terrified. And I know that’s not enough. I’d convinced myself we were better off apart. That too much had happened. And that including me in your escape would just be asking for trouble. Like what if I got sick again? How would I get meds? How would I control it on the road like that? I couldn’t hold you back. And I didn’t want you to get caught because of me and then end up back here…which is pretty fucking ironic now.” Ian's voice breaks on the last word at the memory of returning to Chicago only to find himself at Monica’s funeral, missing Mickey so desperately that it physically hurt. Every fiber of his body told him he had made the wrong decision. Except for the knowledge that sparing Mickey meant they would never end up turning into Monica and Frank. That was the one thing that reassured him he'd done the right thing. He’d given Mickey a new beginning. A better one. 

"When I got back, Monica had died." At that, Ian feels Mickey's eyes on him. "Needed you so much during that. It was like...I could still feel you, in everything. But you weren't there."

Mickey breaks their eye contact, looking off and shaking his head as if wanting to deny Ian’s words.

“And then, the train station…Mick, by then, I’d convinced myself I didn’t deserve another shot from you. I hoped you'd found happiness. Obsessed over it actually. And I knew if I showed up, you'd help me. Of course you would. It's who you are. But I couldn't let you risk your new life—a _free_ life—just for me. It was NEVER that you weren’t enough. I’m the one who wasn’t enough.” 

Mickey seems like he's a million miles away, lost in his thoughts, and Ian would do anything to know what he’s thinking. What he’s feeling. After a long silence, he asks, “And now?” barely above a whisper. 

And _fuck it_ , Ian grabs his hands and tightens them in his hold. “Now it’s _our_ time. If you still want to be with me.” 

With a responding squeeze of his own, Mickey lets go of Ian’s hands and shoves at his dampening eyes with his palms. Ian can’t help his slow smile. He knows how uncomfortable the emotional stuff makes Mickey but there is nothing more beautiful to Ian than Mickey when he shows Ian just how big his heart is. 

"I'm sorry about Monica. I know she was a shit mother, but she was still your mother."

"Yeah," is all Ian can add, the darkness of that time too much to let in right now.

After another long silence, Mickey speaks again and the words shatter Ian. “I don’t know, Gallagher,” he says, right before he drops his head into his hands, elbows resting on his knees. 

Ian's heart aches at the sight of Mickey like this. Broken. No hint of that cocky bad boy he loves so much. There’s so much more Ian wants to say to try and make Mickey understand how serious he is. How committed. He wants to tell him the stupid, everyday stuff. Like how many times he’d dialed Mickey's old number over the last couple of years out of reflex. How he would look for him in a room when someone said something funny. Or stupid. But funny or stupid in a way that only he and Mickey would get and be able to laugh at. Only to be met with sadness and then that eminent loneliness that had become so familiar when he remembered that Mickey was gone. But he doesn’t want to push Mickey. He knows he needs to respect his boundaries and give him time. If that’s what he needs. Not knowing what else to do but wanting to comfort his friend somehow—even when _he_ is the reason for Mickey’s pain—he scoots in behind him, legs straddling Mickey, who is still sitting hunched over. He presses his forehead to the back of Mickey’s neck and circles one arm around his waist while running his left hand up Mickey’s torso and resting it over his heart. Mickey doesn't move at first, but after a few quiet moments, he leans into Ian.

“I’m sorry I made assumptions on your behalf. You're right. I should've come to you—found you—and let the decision be yours. I wanted to so many times,” Ian offers as the burn of tears begins clawing its way into his throat. He feels Mickey trembling and takes that hand that was around his waist and begins to rub small circles on his back, wanting nothing more than to comfort him. To take all his pain away once and for all. "I just...I didn't believe we could make it work with all the shit we had stacked against us."

Ian could feel Mickey nodding. “Funny," he starts, his voice low and guttural, "because the only time I ever believed in anything was with you."

Ian expels a breath, that hole in his chest expanding further with the weight of Mickey's words. Ian knows how much that honesty costs Mickey. How much he must be struggling in telling Ian how he really feels. He guesses that their current position—one where Mickey doesn't have to look at Ian—must be helping, and he's glad that he can offer him at least that. Because Mickey is absolutely right. And Ian deserves the punch after punch that Mickey's raw words are delivering. When Ian returned from his failed attempt at Basic, Mickey had been all in. But Ian had been blind to it. Still holding a grudge over all that had happened before. And too far in his head because, even at that point, Ian knew something was going on with him. He just wasn't ready to deal with it. Mickey had believed in them when Ian was at his worst, and Ian hadn't done the same for him. "I'm so sorry, Mick. I'll never stop being sorry. Even if you forgive me." 

"Told you…forgave you a long time ago. I just…I can't forget...I thought I could” he trails off before taking several deep breaths in what seems like an effort to calm himself. “If you were to change your mind again, you’d fucking wreck me,” Mickey admits, his voice low. 

Ian hears his own deep inhalation. All he can do is squeeze. Squeeze Mickey’s body closer to his own. Squeeze the fabric of the clothing sitting over his heart. “I won’t,” Ian chokes out. “Not ever again.” 

“Yeah, but now I'm the one who doesn't believe it.” He feels—rather than sees—Mickey shake his head. “You’ve never chosen us.”

And there it is. The crux of where they stand. Mickey loves him—not that Ian ever doubted it—but he doesn’t trust Ian. He didn't believe in them anymore. And can he blame the guy? 

Mickey lowers one of his hands that had been cradling his head, and shifts slightly to the side, as if getting ready to speak. Ian brings his chin to rest on Mickey's shoulder. “Almost killed me the last time. I needed you then. But when have you ever needed me? When have you ever _let_ yourself need me? You just said yourself...that you needed me when Monica died. But what did you do about that? Always been me running back to you. Because I don’t know how not to. Guess that makes me the bitch, huh?” he says with a dry laugh. “I love you. But I’ve never loved anyone before so maybe I’m doing it wrong. Because loving someone, for me? It means I don’t know how _not_ to drop everything when I find out you’re in trouble. Fuck everything else. You say you love me. But you turned your back on me. Never looked back. So what does your love mean?” Mickey’s voice is strained when he continues. “It’d be really easy to just pick things back up in here, but I can’t. I won’t. Not until I’m all in. And I’m not all in because I don’t trust you not to turn your back on me again once we’re walking free. And…much as it hurt the last time, it’ll put me in the ground next time.” 

Ian squeezes his eyes shut, tears freely running down his face now. “I understand,” he manages to get out. “Then I’ll wait. I’ll work for your trust and I’ll wait, until I have it back.” 

“Might never trust you again, gotta be honest,” Mickey says and it’s a mere whisper, like they’re words he doesn’t want to admit. 

“Then I’ll spend the rest of my next life waiting. And the one after that. And the one after that…” 

Mickey chuckles, that dry humorless sound again. “Long time to wait around for a piece of shit like me.” 

Ian squeezes him harder, desperately, moving his one hand back around his waist. He can feel his anger surfacing at those words _he_ helped put in Mickey's head. “That’s not what you fucking are,” he growls, shaking Mickey with the force of each word. Mickey doesn’t respond and instead allows himself to be manhandled by Ian, his silence a clear disagreement to Ian's protest. 

“I want to know.” 

“Know what?” Mickey asks, his voice resigned. 

“I want to know every single thing that happened to you after you crossed that border. Because every bit of it is my fault and I want to own that. I need it. Give that to me. Please.” And they're the last words Ian is able to choke out before the dam bursts and he breaks down. He breaks down for the naive boy he once was who loved Mickey so completely and didn't understand why Mickey couldn't simply love him back. For all the ways they'd hurt each other since then. For the disease that tore them apart. For all the times he now knows he’d broken Mickey’s heart, only to be sitting here, all these years later, still impossibly in love with him but maybe having lost him for good. For the future they might've lost.

It's some time later when Ian feels the wetness of Mickey's warm tears hit his hand, which only makes Ian hold him tighter. He’d hold Mickey until they became one force—a shield—against anything and anyone who ever tries to hurt them again. Mickey places his hand over Ian's, the one that has been resting over Mickey’s heart, and entwines their fingers. And through their shared grief, Ian can at least appreciate Mickey's vulnerability, something Ian knows he hates revealing to anyone. He might not be able to give Ian his trust. But Mickey is still giving Ian other parts of himself. And at that thought, Ian drops a kiss to the back of Mickey's neck before replacing his lips with his forehead once again.

It took a while, but eventually their tears dried and they just sat there, holding each other, their breaths in unison. “'K," Mickey mumbled. "I’ll tell you everything.”


End file.
